The shadows are always here, lurking nearby. Waiting for the perfect moment to make their move, to make themselves known. They belong neither to the present nor to the future. They are rooted firmly in the past. And I cannot look away.
A wise man once said, “When your thoughts are in the past, then you are in the past.” Perhaps he meant it to be helpful. Or perhaps it was a curse. Either way, I am here now with my present and my past merging into one endless loop that I cannot break away from. It is not that I lack the strength or desire. It is will power. It is the broken record of my mind. Dwelling on the past has simply become a habit.
I will break the mirror. No matter how strong the pull, I shall tear my gaze away from these shadowy figures that haunt me. I will no longer give them life. They will wither away and die. With the past. Their long tentacled fingers of thought can reach me no more. Nevermore.
I will replace this habit with a new one.
We’ll see how long it lasts.
Art in this post is I’m Half-Sick of Shadows (The Lady of Shalott) by by Sidney Harold Meteyard